In his haste to see as much of India as possible, and yet arrive in China in season to join Commodore Perry’s expedition to Japan, he determined to ride in one of the mail carts of India a distance of nearly four hundred miles. His new friends advised him not to attempt the journey, and entertained him with the deeds of assassins and robbers along the route, and the results of the fatiguing ride of seven days and nights in a two-wheeled vehicle without springs or mattresses. But his mind was made up to go, and go he would. So, regardless of warnings and advice, he started into the interior in a cart with a driver and the “Royal Mail.” The traveller who now lounges in the luxuriant carriages of the railway trains between Bombay and Calcutta, can have no idea of the trials of such a journey as Mr. Taylor undertook. Then, there were no railroads, no regular stages, even; nothing but lumbering carts drawn by oxen and decrepit old horses. But he endured the fatigue with his usual fortitude and good fortune, while his already remarkable experience among hospitable people was repeated there in a most praiseworthy style. Friends, friends, everywhere! Men divided their meals and beds with him. People with whom he could converse by signs only, gave him food and pressed themselves into his service, and would take no pay. In one place a soldier sat up all night to give the weary traveller his bed. Surely, the essence of human kindness and charity is not confined to Christian lands! Through jungles, where there was not a single path; along highways, crowded with innumerable carts; riding in wildernesses, where water was scarce, and food not to be found; in every kind of vehicle known to the primitive people, from a horse chaise to a bullock-cart; surrounded by miasmatic marshes, and the lairs of tigers, he hurried on toward Delhi. On his way he made a short stop at Agra and Futtehpoor-Sikra, where stand some of the mightiest and most costly temples which have been reared since the beginning of the Christian era. It well repays years of work and economy to wander among the palaces, mosques, and mausoleums of those great cities. No palace in all the world can be found to equal that of Akbar, the great Mogul, at Agra. When Mr. Taylor visited the city, nearly all the rubbish, made by wars and sieges, had been cleared away, and the scarred walls and marred mosaics had been restored, so that he stood under mighty domes, amid all the splendor of the East. No one can imagine its beauty and grandeur, unless he has seen it. Such lofty arches! such masses of pure white marble! such a profusion of pearl, jasper, cornelian, agate, and many stones of greater beauty and value! Such exquisite carvings, such lovely mosaics, such labyrinths of inwrought balustrades and porticos! Such tombs, so rich, so beautiful, so great, that the tomb of Napoleon in Paris is lost in comparison!